


Dawn

by windycarnage



Category: Bastion
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mostly Zulf-Centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-07 11:10:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windycarnage/pseuds/windycarnage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zulf attempts to see the Bastion with new eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dawn

Only the soft sounds of the kitchen knife hitting the cutting board thumped through small tent, a harmony of birds quietly chattering outside. Hot rays of light blossomed onto the dirty floor through the opening from the tent. The sun was high, albeit slanted in the sky casting long shadows over the Bastion. It was midday. Lately, it seemed the days began to blend together. The warm colors of the sun melding with the cool air of the night like a painting, captured in a composition on a canvas of what must have been a month or two since they started. Zulf held no regard for the time at this point, just another fabrication of before the Calamity. Whether it was day or night, Zulf would sleep, eat, or what became his only past time— wandering around the Bastion with lost, dark eyes, eyes like glistening glass, staring off into the horizon like he was searching for a lost friend. It was empty, though. No one was waiting for him.

The knife sliced away at a carrot with ease, dicing up from the thinnest part of the root towards the stem rhythmically and mindlessly. Pushing the remains of the carrot diagonally towards the small pile of other chopped, assorted vegetables, Zulf took the cutting board and began wiping it down, tossing the stems in a sack which would later be thrown in with the rest of the compost. It all felt so mechanical to the Ura, wiping his blade clean on his apron before setting it to the side. His movements were steady with familiarity, the mundane tasks anchoring him into a false sense of comfort. Maybe that was why he was here chopping vegetables for dinner. Although it was usually left for Zia to do the cooking, Zulf felt a sense of calming in the kitchen, luring him into a domesticated trap he longed for. He tried to find reasons to sift around in there, away from the edges of the Bastion, the long drop only proving to entice him. The young Ura did not want to daydream with those kinds of thoughts too much, not only because they startled him, but most of all because they also comforted him.

While the supper duties were primarily left to Zia (to deny the woman the opportunity to share her delicious recipes seemed like a crime), Zulf still found reason to keep busy. He took to himself making lunches for the Kid to take while he was out scaveging for supplies. After noticing that the tanned male would stuff an assortment of random breads and vegetables, raw, for eating, Zulf decided to do better things with the nights he lay awake with a mind reeling from nightmares and ghosts. Zulf at first made a few sandwiches (no tomatoes, he learned that after the first few tries), then a few more. He also stocked some jams in metal containers he cleaned, then whatever other surprises he could make with what they had and what he could remember. He also recruited Zia at some point for a few pieces of advice, but the pale lady knew better than to rob a man of his new and only found comfort.

Kid had left that morning before the sun was even out, dewy footsteps across the Bastion alerting the dark haired man within his tent. He peeked out to watch the tan Caelondian boldly make his way towards the skyway, each step anchored to the ground with a purpose. Zulf couldn’t help but admire his stance and posture, so simple, so certain, with his wild white hair tousled playfully in the light breeze and early morning sky. His face was clean, a few old bandages decorating the sun kissed skin there. However, the rest of his body was dusted with dirt. He hadn’t showered. Zulf wasn’t surprised. He more than once found the Kid satisfied with rubbing cold water on his face and into his eyes to ease the sleepiness away. Zulf couldn’t bring himself to mind, although the wounds on the other man’s arms seemed to disagree. One day Zulf might grow the courage to sit the Kid down and tend to those wounds, but for now they would have to join the multitude of other scars, new and old, mapping out over that tanned skin. A small fond smile tugged at the corner of Zulf’s pale lip as he spotted the knapsack he filled with the Kid’s lunch safely tucked away at the bag on his side. He then eased back with defeat into his tent for more rest before tending to his other duties for the day.

No one was ever really sure when Kid would come back after leaving the Bastion for his hunts, but the entire complex held its breath in anticipation and worry. It stalled in silence, time slipping by like granules of sand into the ocean, the remaining three occasionally exchanging pleasant, but knowing smiles. Each day was different, sometimes merging into two or three, without a single sight of messy hair and a stern, unreadable face. Zulf understood the boundless nature of the Kid’s resilience himself, the icey memories of being dragged along the cold, rocky underfoot of the terminals flashing in his mind, each step fanning splotches of blood, red blood like his, onto the dirt. He almost felt like he’d be mocking the Kid to question his sturdy resistance out there in the wild, but they all shared the same sort of uncertainty lingering in the depths of their thoughts that came with everything. Ever since the Calamity, Zulf found himself questioning even his own integrity easily. There was so much he couldn’t rely on anymore. All that was certain was that nothing was.

As Zulf made his way out into the sunlight, unwrapping the apron from his waist to curl over a railing for Zia later, he unrolled his sleeves as he made his quiet way back to the tent. He stared at the skin of his hands, the grass crunching delicately under his boot with each step. Was he getting paler? He couldn’t tell. Surely, his Ura skin had started to glow with the warmth of Caelondia during his time there, but now his skin was white as snow. As paper, he changed his mind. He didn’t want to think about the snow, or the terminals, or his fleeting pulse on the Kid’s back. He finished rolling down his sleeve, lifting his head to squint against the sunlight. Regardless, he quickly reassured himself, the only time he felt the sun was in between tents. He spent most of his time inside. Maybe it was his Ura genes, he preferred dark, cold places. Or maybe that was all he felt. Dark, and cold.

A glare from the old Gramophone paused Zulf in his thoughts and in his stride, the golden shine blinding him momentarily. It gleamed in the light, warm oranges and yellows washing over the smooth, glittering metal. He backed out of the glare, blinking away at the spots clouding his vision. It was amazing, the sheer volume of things the Kid picked up while he was away. He was always doting some kind of trinket, whether it was useless garbage or not. What was amazing still was the lack of knowledge the Kid had on most of the things he brought back. Most of the time he couldn’t tell if it was a piece of something, or whether it even worked or not. Somehow he always found a place to carefully nestle each little treasure, as if the Bastion was just a giant layout for the number of puzzle pieces the Kid could find. Zulf wondered if this was a hobby the Kid always had, even before the Calamity, that somehow trickled down into his new life. His new life, Zulf thought, that he was taking with stride. However, he knew better than to get concerned over the Kid’s ability to bounce back after the Calamity.

At first, writhing both in guilt and disbelief after the Kid dragged him back, bleeding but breathing, to the Bastion, Zulf was irritated. He was so mad that the Kid could take everything so openly without even a sliver of hesitance on his stoic face. He had the toughest job, a choice-less job, but could still wake with the certainty of a man who had something to get done. One night, after the tension burned away at his chest and in his head, sitting beside a fire while Zia was pulling at her harp guitar for fine tuning, he let the wrath unleash. It was not a loud exclaim, for the Kid had pulled Rucks to sleep at that point. He also did not want to plant the seeds of doubt into anyone else’s head at that point, he’d already managed to betray everyone once. The thought that the Kid would probably drag him back again made his knuckles tense and white. Zia turned to look at Zulf, her calloused fingers hovering in thought above the strings while Zulf stared deeply into and beyond the fire. His eyes jumped from each wavering flame with uneasiness, his voice a low mumble as he explained his dilemma.

It was easy to talk to Zia. It always was. It was hard, though, to look into her calm and hopeful eyes for Zulf, as he only saw his own dreary expression in their reflection, so he stared at the fire as if it were a mirror into his own heart. Once he started picking away at each shard of his broken demeanor the contents of his heart began spilling out like a virus in his chest. He told her his worries, about the Kid and about how he thought of him. He was unsure which bothered him more. When he was finished there was a spark of regret that found its way into his bones, as it always did ever since the Calamity, but it washed away with the soft look Zia rinsed him with.

She lowered her harp guitar, staring at him from across the fire although she knew he would not look at her. “He’s a lot different than you.” She offered kindly, as if some kind of hopeful knot that Zulf could cling onto. Zulf’s gentlemanly demeanor faltered to release a somewhat spiteful sneer.

“Yes, that’s obvious.” He retorted, the small exchange dulling the hot release of his worries. He pulled himself from where he was hunched over, hands clasped together and on his knees. Instead he brought them to sit in his lap with a straight back and straighter shoulders.

“I meant besides from bein’ Ura an’ Caelondian.” She tried again. There was a slight pause in her breath, taking her eyes from him as if trying to hide the hesitance in her eyes. Even from his peripheral view, Zulf could feel it. She plucked a few harmonious chords from her harp guitar after a silence exchanged between them. Zulf let his heavy lids lower over his eyes, eyes bruised from his sleepless nights, peeking out to stare at the restless fire. His shoulders lowered with a sense of loss.

“How’sa man who had nothin’ supposed to talk to a man who lost everythin’?” Zia mumbled quietly, plucking again at her harp guitar though she knew she hit the mark because Zulf visibly stiffened from the corner of her eye. It wasn’t much, but she was a champion at reading the body’s language since the Kid wasn’t exactly a man of many words.

There was a quiet again, this time from Zulf’s part, as the gears in his head began churning like clockwork. Zia decided to send him a lifeline before Zulf got that look in his eye again, the one where he looked like somebody lost who couldn’t find their way.

“You’re gon’ have to get over you two bein’ enemies.” She chastised, though Zulf let out a scoff before he realized it. What was it about Zia that made Zulf forget his cultured upbringing? He still said nothing though, and Zia finally turned to look at him as she reached for the water canister on the wooden barrel between them. “Y’know?” , she quipped, eyes locked on target that said she wasn’t going to let him slip away without a response. Zulf’s face hardened. These were all things Zulf tried to push to the farthest crevice of his mind, mentally fleeing from anything that was too complex to think about. Zulf already lost his footing on reality when the Calamity hit, the ashes of the world he could only remember filling his lungs. There was little he could do now besides try to rebuild everything he needed to know, or grasp onto the fragmented foundation of everything he once knew. Zulf decided to take the easier route.

“Kid’s not finding any trouble doin’ just that.” Zia pricked at him again verbally, eyes still focused on him. Zulf let out a sigh, looking off into the starry night, whirls of clouds dappling the patches of cosmos.

“It’s easy to be on the winning side of the war.” Zulf finally responded, somehow manifesting his anger and frustration of a situation he was on the losing end of into their conversation. He was trying desperately to at least not lose his hold on that much. He stood, dusting off his robes, turning his back to the pale Ura girl. As she started back to tending to her harp guitar, he caught a mutter in the chilled air that he wished he hadn’t.

“Try tellin’ that to the Kid when he gets back from the wilds.”

He realized that he never stood a chance against her.

Zulf gracefully pulled himself out of the Gramophone’s bright glare further, making his way around it towards his tent. He considered, thoughtfully, that maybe he could get some rest before the Kid returned from his voyage. The Ura had finished most of his daily tasks of cleaning, mapping their course, and scouting for new lands in the morning after Kid had left. There was very little busy work that Zia didn’t brush him away from, so he had taken to the habit of afternoon naps. He found it was easier to sleep when the noises of the day distracted him rather than in the silence of he night, where he was all alone with himself.

Just as he was making his way towards his tent, Zulf heard Zia yell out excitedly from across the Bastion. He whipped his head in her direction to watch the girl fussing over the newly spotted Kid. It was early for him to be home and Zulf couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not. He was more surprised to realize he hadn’t heard the telltale thump of the skyway spitting the Kid back onto the Bastion. Maybe the Kid landed on his feet, this time. With a hint of humor in his thoughts, Zulf mused over the idea. Not a chance.

There was a breath of relief the pale man released as Zulf noted the condition the Kid was in. He was alive, that was one thing, and conscious. Strong enough to stand. As he made his way towards the two of them, Zulf’s expression darkened from content to concerned in only a few moments. It seemed Zia was not yelling out in excitement, but rather chastizing the boy for the wound torn into his forearm. It was deep, that was for sure, but definitely nothing the Kid wasn’t able to handle. That didn’t seem to stop Zia from fluttering over him, something about how he needed to take better care of himself. No wonder he came home early.

“Oh, Mother, What? Didja think it was a good idea to make friends with a Pincushion?” It was a thought that was stuck in Zulf’s throat, but instead it came from the gritty voice of Rucks who shuffled up to the group. Instead of turning to look at the old man, he observed Kid’s wound again, and it was true. Three gashes ripped across his forearm, something that could only have been caused by a Pincushion. It looked very painful, but when Zulf lifted his gaze he was only met with Kid’s brown eyes. Unreadable, again. A calm face, though for a second Zulf caught something he’d never noticed before. Albeit fleeting, there was what he would call almost surprise. It didn’t last very long before the Kid turned his attention towards Rucks almost instantly. Not long enough for Zulf to study, anyway.

“Didn’t see it.” He responded honestly, face devoid of shame, followed by a shrug of his shoulders. Rucks, again, seemed to voice what was on everyones mind by heaving a dramatic sigh up in the sky. He only shook his head then turned to shuffle away, muttering under his breath something about how he wasn’t sure if the Kid was gonna be the end of him or if he’d get himself killed first. As he left, it seemed Zia was just about to start fussing over him again like a humming bird but for some reason Zulf reached out to grab at his wrist just beneath his wound. He wasn’t sure where the boldness was coming from, though he felt the driving force it was in the curiosity of Kid’s gaze. Zulf found himself moving without thinking again. Only this time, it was different. His heart was thumping in his chest so loud he could barely hear himself mumble to Zia. He told her to get started on an early dinner, and he’d take care of the Kid.

Both of them seemed surprised by his actions, Zia more so, giving one long stare in Zulf’s direction before nodding curtly and turning towards the tent he’d just emerged from. Kid, on the other hand, was just quiet, although that wasn’t concerning. What _was_ new was the feeling of warm skin in his hand, pulling the Kid quietly in the direction of his tent where he kept a handful of medical supplies. His mind was whirling with thoughts as he held onto his wrists, feeling him his fingers. It was strange to hold him, so delicately, when he knew they were powerful hands. They were hands that would take down worlds. He took a shaky breath, adrenaline pumping through his veins, though he masked it easily. The last time he felt so close to the other male was when he was on his death bed, betrayal bleeding onto the snowy earth. He guessed that was what made him so uneasy.

Pushing back the opening fold of his tent to pull Kid inside, he finally dropped the boy’s wrist, hoping that his heart rate would also drop. Instantly, he went to where he set up his medication supplies, carefully pulling open the top of a chest they found out in the wilds. He rummaged through the miscellaneous contents in search of some gauze and disinfectant, but the sound of Kid rustling caught his attention first. His head snapped up to watch the tanned youth touching some of the Ura antiques he’d found since they started the journey.

His room was divided. On one end, he carefully arranged the Ura paraphernalia decorating an old desk. Books he found piled up on either end, a few making small towers on beside it on the floor. Some of these books he’d already read, others he had planned to. They all felt warm, and reminded him of the missionary from his childhood, and he captured himself in a womb of the old world while he read. He could forget the Bastion, the Calamity, the loss of his love, if only for a minute.

On the other end, also delicately arranged though not _quite_ as delicately, were a number of the gifts the Kid found for his sake. They were an assortment of things, and although Zulf had tried to find some kind of pattern to them there was none. Some things the Kid really wasn’t sure of or where they came from, but he still offered them to the black haired man regardless. The spyglass he’d recieved lay there, polished, on the side table. Although he now used a much handier one, he still liked to keep it clean for the sake of respect. There was also a gentlemanly part of him that wouldn’t let his room go untidied, end of the world or not. The Pyth plush also sat on another side table, above a few books he hadn’t touched since he took up permanent residence. At first, he had rightfully denied the toy from the Kid. It wasn’t in his best interest to mock the Gods. Though after everything that happened, he didn’t mind finding the plush among his things.

Zulf inhaled sharply, his words coming out faster than he registered. “Wait— Don’t touch that.” He didn’t say it harshly, but there were traces of desperate caution laced in his words. The Kid stopped dead in his tracks, hand still lingering over an ancient vase depicting the Ura worshipping the Gods. There was a silence, Zulf let out a breath.

“You’ll... You’re bleeding.” Zulf mentioned, giving him a stern look. The Kid didn’t seem to really understand what the Ura was getting at, but he watched Zulf give a look to a chair at the desk and he made his way silently towards it. Finally, after Zulf let out a relieved breath, he found the wrappings and ointment necessary to treat Kid’s wounds.

“Let me see your arm,” The black haired man ordered gently, his own hand waiting to receive the limb. Kid looked at him curiously, then placed his wounded limb onto his palm and Zulf curled his fingers around it. His eyes flicked towards the Kid again, but he seemed to be curiously watching the cultured man’s nimble fingers. It was like he’d never watched someone patch him up before, but Zulf knew that wasn’t true. Rucks had done so before, even Zia. And yet he was captured by the hands holding his limb. Tossing his thoughts to the side, he rubbed some of the ointment onto his hands and, just as he was about to massage it into the wound, he hesitated and looked at the tan youth.

“This might— It’s going to sting.” Zulf warned, and Kid’s eyes met his again for only a reassuring moment before falling back down to the hands at his wound. Zulf took a small breath before applying the cream, but despite his initial thoughts, Kid’s held no other expression beside the curious one he held before. Wait, there it was, hidden in his eyes was a small wince. Zulf wasn’t sure whether or not he should be relieved to see the Kid react to pain. But at the very least, he was human.

The rest of the work was quiet and gentle, Zulf wrapping a bandage carefully around the wound delicately several times before he was satisfied. All the while Kid watched patiently and curiously, his interest obviously caught. Zulf still could not understand why he was so earnestly watching, although it did not bother him. He said not a single word, his eyes tracing over ever single movement his fingers made, captivated. Zulf felt flattered. They were tangled together, watching one another and observing their movements, a delicate art balanced between the two. Finally, Zulf stood straight and stepped back, their closeness suddenly very relevant. Despite this, the previous calm had yet to leave him.

“How does that feel?” Zulf asked with a gentle voice, eyeing his handiwork. Kid stood beside the slightly taller male, slowly turning his arm back and forth to give it a test. He nodded, satisfied, then turned to look at Zulf.

“‘Feels good.” The responded bluntly, patting down the bandage to feel its texture. Zulf responded with his own nod, then considered retreating somewhere, anywhere, to recollect his thoughts and reflect on the situation that had just happened. Just as he was about to step out of the tent, the Kid caught his attention again with a simple but thoughtful, “Oh” he lofted into the air. Eyebrows raised, Zulf took the bait and turned towards the Kid again, watching him as he searched for something in one of his bags at his shoulder. He pulled out what looked like an ocean shell, lines tracing in a spiral along the thing’s surface. Colors spread along either face of the shell, blues and greens fading and blending with the delicacy of a flower petal. It was hollow in the center, probably once home to some sort of underwater creature. Taking a look at it, he held it out to Zulf with a subsequent, “Here”.

Taking it delicately in his hand, Zulf’s brows came together as he observed the shell. Another gift. It seemed every day the Kid went out to the wilds he came back with something for Zulf. He knew that the Kid brought him trinkets and pleasant things far more than Rucks or Zia, and it caused him confusion. Feeling bold, he glanced up to the Kid, who seemed to try and decode Zulf’s expression in return.

“Do you know what this is?” Zulf asked gently, his head turning slightly to the side to watch the Kid’s reaction.

The tanned boy shook his head, “Nope.” He responded. It seemed he already knew the next oncoming question so he folded his arms over his chest neatly and shrugged slightly. “Just saw it an’ thought of you.”

Zulf was far from satisfied with that answer, but instead of staring down the Kid who seemed to have no other clues for him, he looked at the side of his room adorned with the other gifts the Kid had brought to him. Pretty things, unsual things, big things, small things. All of them were tiny treasures that caught Kid’s interest one way or another. That was when it hit him suddenly, like a thousand crashing waves. Realization washed over him like the salty ocean, leaving him raw and burned, but above all, with a sense of clarity.

Zulf chuckled to himself knowingly, if not in spite of himself, and heaved out a sigh. He looked to the Kid who finally showed some kind of reaction, albeit it was of concern over what exactly possessed Zulf to start laughing quietly. He quirked a brow especially though, when Zulf came to his side. Quickly, before his judgement could get the better of him, he pressed his lips to the Kid’s surprisingly soft cheek in thanks. It was a simple gesture, but as he pulled away he saw that Kid stiffened slightly and stared dumbfounded at Zulf.

“I— I’m— Zia needs me.” He stammered out with one breath before scurrying out of the tent. His face held no reaction save the bright red painting the palette of his tan face. As Zulf placed the shell delicately on his desk, he could almost hear Zia asking the Kid if he was feeling alright because you don’t look so good.

_How’sa man who had nothin’ supposed to talk to a man who lost everythin’?_

He doesn’t.


End file.
